


Smitten

by Pinkerton



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Injuries, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkerton/pseuds/Pinkerton
Summary: Google searches conducted during Bitty’s first night as Kent Parson's cat sitter:Cat meowing a lot good or badCat stopped meowing good or badCats on balcony safeHow to get cat off balconyCat bites dangerousWhere the heck do pro athletes hide the neosporin???????????Moving cat off lap without getting scratchedCute cat videosHow to win at cat videos





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this story Bitty went to NYU instead of Samwell, and no one has a tragic past with Jack Zimmermann. In fact, Jack is not even in this universe. He's busy running around in another story I am avoiding working on by writing this instead. Oops. Anyway, enjoy!

_**A late-summer afternoon, in Brooklyn...** _

Bitty sprays another blast of starch onto his freshly laundered shirt and lays it out onto the ironing board. He’s humming a bit, smoothing out the wrinkles section by section. Once the collar is sharp enough to cut someone, he pauses to check his work. “A little tender care and you’d never know this was marked down to $6.99 at TJ Maxx. Right, Tallulah?” He looks over at the fishbowl on the dresser, where Tallulah the goldfish swims around her pink plastic grass, her tail swishing happily. “That’s right, baby. Looks like a million bucks.” He tips some food into the bowl and finishes getting ready.

Moments later, he gives himself one last glance in the mirror that hangs by the door to his shared apartment. It was just plain good fortune that he got his hair trimmed a week ago, so it’s now the perfect length without looking too freshly cut. His outfit, a pale yellow button down shirt over navy slacks, is probably as close to “competent but not uptight” as he’s going to get. His shoes are shined, his teeth are brushed, and he even exfoliated in the shower that morning. “Eric Richard Bittle,” he says, leaning in to look himself in the eye. “You are going to ace this interview. You are going to ace it because you are good enough, you are smart enough, and you have $31.42 in your checking account and rent is due in a week and oh lord do you need this job.”

Bitty inhales a shaky breath, then squares his shoulders. He marches out the door, head held high.

 

 

_**An hour and a half later, in Chelsea...** _

“Lardo, stop laughing at me and help me figure out what on god’s green earth I am supposed to do!” Bitty paces the floor in the bathroom, a quick circuit of five steps, a pivot, then five more steps.

Bitty can just make Lardo’s voice out above the background noise of customers and espresso machines. “Well first, you should probably stop hiding in the bathroom. He’s gonna start thinking you’re taking a--”

“This is the opposite of helpful!” Bitty hisses, keeping his voice low.

Lardo snickers. “This is your own fault. You’re the one who decided binge watching 10 episodes of ‘My Cat from Hell’ qualified you to interview for a cat sitting position.”

Bitty leans against the cool tiled wall and closes his eyes. “One, that counts as job research, and two, I didn’t realize I’d be faking my way through an interview with an honest to goodness celebrity! Please just come over here and murder me so I don’t have to go back out there.”

“He can’t be that famous, I’ve never heard of him.” Eric opens his mouth to argue, but Lardo just keeps talking. “Babe, Starbucks is a cruel mistress and I cannot let the bourgeois go without their caffeinated milkshakes to come rescue you. Go out there, get his autograph, and tell him the job’s not a good fit. We’ll figure out rent. Maybe I can -- uh oh, Genesis is giving me the look. Gotta go.”

BItty looks down at his phone. Lardo is right. He can salvage this. He can walk out of the bathroom, calmly explain that it’s not going to work out, and leave with his dignity intact.

Bitty runs the sink for a few seconds, then fixes a smile on his face and opens the door and walks through it to continue the conversation about his potential employment, with his potential employer, Kent Parson.

Kent Parson, cat owner, who just moved to the city.

Bitty can feel his heartbeat pick up as he walks down the hall back toward the kitchen.

Kent Parson, who lives in a giant, moving-box-filled apartment with killer views of the Hudson River sparkling in the late summer sun, because he is a millionaire.

Bitty puts one foot in front of the other, and rounds the corner, where Kent Parson himself, freshly signed to the Rangers, sits at his kitchen island, tapping on his phone.

Kent Parson, whose ESPN Body Issue Bitty keeps in his bedside drawer.

Kent freaking Parson.

“Hey, Eric, thought you might have gotten lost.” Bitty’s seen that smirk, he knows that smirk, but usually it’s coming at him from the safety of his computer screen, not from 4 feet away. His brilliant plan to gracefully exit this interview never stood a chance against that smirk.

Lardo’s going to kill him.

“Hey, Mr. Parson. I was just admiring how many high places you have for Kit to perch on. I bet she likes that big bookcase over there.” Bitty mentally pats himself on the back. If he can work in something about hiding spots, he might actually have a shot at this.

Kent’s smirk shifts into something more relaxed. “Yeah, she loves to be tall. You got a cat?”

Bitty sits down on the stool across from Kent. “Nope, just a goldfish named Tallulah and four roommates. We’re pretty full up.”

“Four?” Kent grimaces. “Well, if you end up working with me, you’ll have a lot of nights just you and Kit.”

A happy sigh escapes Bitty’s lips at the thought of that. As much as he loves Lardo, sharing a room with her and everything else with 3 other totally broke Craigslist roommates in Bushwick is not quite the post-college scenario Bitty had dreamed of when he walked across the stage at NYU's graduation ceremony in May. The thought of spending a few days a week alone in a luxury high rise sounds like heaven.

“It’d be a nice break from the usual, that’s for sure. Think I could use the gym?”

“Sure, and the pool, too.” Kent gets up and walks over to the fridge to refill his water glass. “So, what do you say? My game schedule is set through April, more or less. Home games I’ll need you 4pm to 11pm, and away games would be a chunk of overnights in a row. Some months I’ll need extra days to cover travel or events, and that’s built into your pay. I’m flexible on holidays, and of course, you’d get overtime.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Bitty waits for Kent to continue. This all is too good to be true. There has to be a catch.

“My assistant, Amanda, will work out your insurance. She has the same plan, so she can answer any questions you have. Oh, and as a warning, and I’m so sorry, but I have to tell you, it only covers medical and dental. Vision would have to be out of pocket.” Kent looks at Bitty, waiting for a response.

Bitty hasn’t seen a dentist in 3 years. He clears his throat. “I’ve got 20/20 eyesight, so I’m sure that’ll be fine.” The other shoe has to drop any second. Bitty can wait.

“There’s just a few conditions I want to lay out before we move forward. First, there’s some industry standard NDAs to sign.” Bitty nods, and Kent continues. “Second, while you’d be my employee, Amanda is totally the boss of me, and thus you, and she is merciless about turning in paperwork on time.”

Bitty pretends to consider that thoughtfully for a second, then nods. Kent smiles, and continues, “And third, and this is a big one--” here we go, Bitty thinks to himself. This is going to be the deal breaker. “The starting salary might seem a little low, but after your 3 month review we would set up some sort of raise schedule, and I’m a big believer in holiday bonuses and stuff. Plus, you’ll be an authorized user on my credit cards and there’s a bit of petty cash built in with that.”

Of course. Bitty almost feels relieved. Of course, the catch would be the money. Kent Parson probably wants to pay him some ridiculously low amount, thinking that the privilege of working for him and a handful of perks would pay Bitty’s share of the electric bill. “How low is low?” Bitty asks, shifting on his stool, ready to make a quick goodbye and exit.

“Well, 50k to start, with a $100 per diem when you’re working.”

Bitty almost flops right off his chair and onto the floor, saved by the grace of still having a skater’s core muscles. He can see Kent start to frown, mistaking his silence for dissatisfaction. Bitty swallows the glee he can feel rising, and inhales deeply before answering. “Well, Mr. Parson --”

“Call me Kent.”

“--uh, okay, Kent, that salary sounds workable.”

“Oh!” Kent says, his face lighting up. “Oh, Eric, that’s just great.”

“Please, no one calls me Eric. It’s Bitty.”

“Okay, Bitty. I can’t tell you what a relief it is -- I’m not gonna lie, this move has been super stressful and I was worried I would have to leave Kit with some pet service that just checks in, as if 30 minutes a day could possibly keep a cat socialized and happy,” Kent pauses and shudders. “Anyway, I’m so, so, glad to have found you. Your references were great, your background check came back with no red flags, and you seem to really know cats. I think Kit’s gonna be in great hands.”

Bitty glances over to the giant sofa, where Kit has been snoozing since he arrived. “You know what, Kent? I couldn’t agree more!”

 

 

_**Later that night in Bushwick...** _

Only a little beer sloshes out of his glass when Bitty makes his fifth toast of the evening. “To my stellar professional references!” Lardo, Shitty, and Chowder raise their glasses, and Bitty signals for another round.

“Whoa, there, money bags,” Shitty says, attempting to swat his hand down. “Are you sure?”

“Shitty, I’m going to have _insurance_.” Eric leans forward, beckoning Shitty closer. Shitty obliges, and Bitty leans in close to ear and loudly whispers, “I get to go to the, uh, what’s it-- the tooth doctor!”

“Well fuck, brah, when you put it like that--” Shitty picks up his glass, shouts “TOOTH DOCTORS!” and drains what’s left of his beer, then signals to the bartender for another round.

Bitty’s memory after that gets a little blurry.

 

 

_**Later that night, in Chelsea...** _

“Parser, go bother your new team.” Jeff’s voice is a little muffled on the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, let me go pour out my heart to Henrik fucking Lundqvist.” Kent flops onto his couch and throws his hand over his eyes, sighing deeply.

“I heard that sigh, you fucking diva. Are you wallowing in your goddamn Manhattan apartment? Oh boo-hoo, I play in Madison Square Garden, what a shithole. My contract negotiation netted me literally millions and millions of dollars, now leave me alone so I can cry to my cat.”

“Are you done?”

“No. Woe is me, I live in a city where I can get same day Amazon delivery.”

“Fuck off,” Kent says, but he’s smiling. “It’s one hour delivery in Manhattan. It almost makes me forget that I miss you assholes.”

Jeff sniffles as he answers, and Kent can hear rustling. “We miss you, too.”

“Do you have a cold? Do I hear tissues? Are you--”

“Hey, hey. First of all, you sound like you are perilously close to slipping into captain voice, which no longer will work on me, since you fucked off to parade around on an Original Six team.” Jeff rustles around some more, and Kent can almost picture him sitting on his couch, one leg tucked up under him. “Second, yes, I am definitely hopped up enough on Nyquil that I probably won’t remember most of your ridiculous story of hiring a cute boy to watch your cat.”

“I’m 99% sure his references were just his friends talking in slightly deeper voices. But, he really loves cats. I can tell.”

Jeff blows his nose, loudly, and sighs. “And his face?”

“...his face was not hurting his prospects at getting hired.” Kent looks down at Kit, who is sprawled over his leg. Her little foot is twitching as she dreams. “Get it, baby,” he says fondly, gently stroking her ear.

“Thanks for the encouragement, Capt’n. Will do. Hanging up now.” The phone beeps as Jeff ends the call, and Kent tosses it from hand to hand. He has a few texts from his new teammates, the boys his age, whose orbits he’s been in and out of since Juniors. He could go for a beer, maybe. Or, he thinks, looking around at the mountains of boxes and thinking of Amanda’s early arrival tomorrow to help him settle in, maybe not.

 

 

_**Early the next morning…** _

Amanda arrives with a personal organizer and a crew of four as Kent runs out the door to practice.

When he returns in the early afternoon, the apartment is organized, decorated, and smells faintly of sage and citrus. As he sinks into his perfectly made bed for a nap, he sighs happily. Amanda is the best. He knows how to hire staff. This cat sitting thing with Eric -- no, Bitty -- will work out just great.

He wakes up 90 minutes later, refreshed. Before he walks out the door, he kisses Kit on the nose, runs a lint roller over his suit, and knocks on the counter three times. “Bitty will be here in an hour, babes,” he says to Kit as he grabs his keys. “Be a good girl, have a good day!”

As he walks the 10 blocks between him and Madison Square Garden, he smiles. Things are falling into place. Maybe this move is going to be okay after all.

 

 

_**Later that same day, in the not quite as early afternoon…** _

Eric rolls over and thwacks his hand into Lardo’s side.

“Oof, Bits, not nice." She shoves at him till he rolls away, then buries her head in the pillow.

Bitty flops on his back, attempting to avoid the patch of sunlight by his head. “Why are you in my bed?”

“Couldn’t find mine,” Lardo mumbles.

“It’s right over there." He's awake enough now to sit up, slowly. “Ugh, m’ head hurts. Where’s my phone?” He shoves the covers around and eventually comes up with his dead phone. As it charges, he runs through what he has in the fridge. He could maybe make pancakes? They don’t have milk...vegan pancakes? He stares at the phone, willing it to turn back on so he can Google recipes. Finally the screen flickers to life.

“OH MY LORD, IT IS 3:00!” Lardo groans as Bitty jumps out of bed and runs to the closet. “I have to be in Chelsea in an hour! Lardo,” he says, shoving his legs into a pair of pants, “please, please, please tell me the L is running.”

Lardo rolls over and thumbs at Bitty’s phone. “Yup. But brah, those are my pants.”

“Oh my god, I’m gonna get fired before I start.” Bitty pulls on a shirt and grabs his phone and backpack as he talks. “Pray for subway miracles and that the cat doesn’t hate me and please feed Tallulah, I love you, bye!”

Bitty arrives at Kent’s apartment at 3:55, breathes a sigh of relief, and keys in using the code Amanda had emailed him. He stops dead in his tracks in the doorway, taking in the perfectly styled living room and open plan kitchen, not a cardboard moving box in sight. “Yesterday there were...how?”

“I literally threw money at people,” a voice offers.

Bitty screams and grabs the nearest object to defend himself.

It’s a brass pineapple.

“Sorry bout that,” a woman says, coming into view from from the hallway. She’s got on a fitted Aces t-shirt and ripped jeans with hi tops, and can’t be more than a year or two older than Bitty. She comes closer and Bitty lowers his makeshift weapon and takes a second to appreciate her perfectly winged eyeliner. “Your contouring is perfect,” he whispers.

“It’d better be. I’m Amanda. I run Kent’s life. Just so you know, that statuette you’re holding costs more than you’re gonna make in a week, so you may want to set it down carefully.”

Bitty does. “Hah, sorry. I’m not normally so jumpy. I just can’t believe everything is unpacked already! It looks good.” It really does. The apartment is all warm tones and furniture that looks a little more comfortable than stylish. Bitty glances longingly at the huge couch in the living room. His head is killing him and being horizontal and not moving for the next several hours sounds great.

“Of course it looks good.” Amanda gestures to the kitchen and heads that way, so Bitty follows. “I worked my ass off.” She shoves some papers at Bitty, who signs where she points. “Great. You’ll get info in the mail within the week about your insurance policy, and if you don’t get a direct deposit next Friday, I’ll cut you a paper check same day. Here’s the shit Kent didn’t tell you -- unless the need arises for 911, I am your first and last call regarding anything that happens in this apartment. Unlock your phone and let me put some numbers in.” Bitty does, and she taps away for a few seconds. “My phone is never off, ever, and while of course you’re welcome to text or call Kent with cat updates and the like, if you have a question or problem that is not about his cat or your relationship with him as an employee --”

‘’--you are my first and last call, got it.”

Amanda nods. “I just wanted to be super clear, cause you smell like a brewery and I’m pretty sure your shirt is on backwards.” Bitty glances down. She’s right. He opens his mouth to defend himself, but she holds up one finger. “You’re a cat sitter, not a brain surgeon. I literally do not care, but please take a shower before sitting on the couch. It’s very expensive. After the game Kent will text you with his ETA. You leave 30 minutes before he’s due back. I just emailed you Kit’s feeding info and a rundown on how to use the tv. Now, I’ll get out of your hair for the night.”

“Uh, you don’t have to --”

She snorts. “Please. That cat hates me, I just moved a hockey player and myself across the country immediately following sitting in on a contract negotiation, and I have the next three days off. I’m going to a gallery opening and I’m going to eat all the free cheese and drink all the wine and forget about the fact that I have to start apartment hunting for myself, okay?”

“Sure?”

“Have a good one, Eric.” And with that, Amanda is gone, and Bitty is alone. He flops onto the couch and groans.

 

 

_**Google searches conducted during Bitty’s first night at work...** _

_Cat meowing a lot good or bad_  
_Cat stopped meowing good or bad_  
_Cats on balcony safe_  
_How to get cat off balcony_  
_Cat bites dangerous_  
_Where the heck do pro athletes hide the neosporin???????????_  
_Moving cat off lap without getting scratched_  
_Cute cat videos_  
_How to win at cat videos_

When the text informing him that Kent is about to leave his post-game dinner and head back home pops up on his phone, Bitty exhales in relief. He looks around the apartment -- the remnants of his delivery dinner are in the trash, he remembered to unplug and pack his charger, and Kit is sound asleep on top of a bookshelf. He snaps a picture and sends it to Kent before setting the security alarm and heading out.

In the elevator, he giggles, and says to no one, “I just got paid to eat Thai food and watch tv for seven hours in Kent Parson’s apartment!”

 

 

_**A week or so into a string of home games later that month...** _

Lardo maneuvers herself so she’s mostly hanging off the bed, but still can’t reach the book she wants. “Bits, a little help?”

Bitty turns to look at her from where he’s tucking things into a duffle bag. “Oh goodness, just get up and get it!”

“Bed too comfy. And you’re not busy.” She lunges, managing to brush her fingers against the spine, but not grab enough to pull the book to her. “Biiiiiits.”

“For heaven’s sake, here,” Bitty says, picking up the book and tossing it onto the bed. “And I’m not doing nothing, I’m getting ready for work.”

Lardo rights herself and begins her elaborate blanket cocoon construction. “You just shoved fuzzy slippers and three different deep conditioning treatments in that bag. Does Kit have some split ends?”

“Excuse you, I am a cat care professional, do not mock the tools of my trade.” Bitty pauses. “There’s also a loofah. Kent has the most ridiculous shower I’ve ever been in. There’s like six shower heads.”

Lardo settles, and picks up the book. “You think about him being naked in there?”

“LARDO!”

“I would. Dude’s hot.”

“He is my boss!” Bitty zips his bag and turns to face Lardo, blushing. “Imayhavewornhisbathrobeonce.”

The grin that spreads across Lardo’s face is sinister. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Ugh.” Bitty flings himself across his bed. “I couldn’t find a towel and it was right there and, of course, it smelled like him--”

“I know I’m not, like, literally laughing, but I am totally laughing at you.”

Bitty groans as he gets to his feet.

“Getting back to my previous line of questioning,” Lardo says, giving up on reading entirely. “The shower situation explains the bath products, but what about the giant bag of laundry?”

Bitty slings the bag over his shoulder. “What’s that? Can’t hear you! Busy leaving for my job in the big city!”

Later that night, after Bitty transfers his laundry to the dryer, he thoroughly enjoys his 35 minute spa shower and top 40 R&B sing a long sauna-like experience.

Kit spends the time rubbing herself on the bath mat.

“See,” Bitty says, as he rinses off the last of his body scrub. “I am an excellent cat sitter.”

Kit meows at him as he steps out and trails him down the hallway. He pauses by the gallery wall of framed photos. There’s plenty of faces Bitty recognizes from ESPN, but his favorite is a picture of Kent sandwiched between two blond women. Judging from the fact that the all have the same nose, he’s pretty sure it’s a Parson family photo. In it, Kent’s face is relaxed and open in a way that he never looks during his postgame interviews or promotional spots with the Rangers.

Kit thunks her head against Bitty’s calf, and Bitty reaches down to scritch her head. ”Yeah, let’s eat some dinner, sugar.”

He watches Kent’s game as he and Kit eat -- a pouch of organic chicken and pumpkin for her, saag paneer and potato naan for him. Kent’s on the second line tonight. He’s fast, and Bitty would put money on him being one of the most agile skaters in the league. He gets two assists, and the Rangers coast to an easy 6-2 victory over the Panthers.

When Kent texts that Bitty can head home, Bitty replies with his customary photo of Kit. Tonight, she’s in full freak out mode, zooming around the couch. He snaps and sends a blurry shot with the caption _She’s excited about your assists!_

He’s just about packed up when his phone chimes.

_You watched?_

Huh. Kent usually just responds with “thnx,”

Bitty thinks for a moment. It’s not crossing a boundary if Kent texted him, surely.

_Yes! I love hockey! Used to play in high school_

He hits send before he can second think it and packs up, says bye to Kit, and makes his way to the subway. He’s just settled into a seat on the train when a reply comes.

_Really? Wow. I had no idea._

Bitty rolls his eyes. _Well, it’s not my fault you’re not a thorough interviewer ;)_

As the train goes in and out of cell service, they keep texting.

_Okay, fine. Then consider this a follow up._

_You already hired me!_

_Damn. You’re right. Okay, then it’s a performance review. Fave hockey team?_

_That’s a terrible review question. The Rangers._

_Fave actual hockey team?_

_The Aces._

_Fave team when you aren’t sucking up to me?_

_Preds._

_Really?_

_I’m a southern boy, and PK is a national treasure._

_He’s Canadian_

_NATIONAL. TREASURE._

_lol, fine. Goodnight, Bitty._

_Goodnight, Kent._

By the time they wrap up, Bitty’s almost back at his apartment.

Over the next few weeks, post-game texting become a routine. It starts as Bitty leaves work and goes on till he gets back to his place. It’s nice, but it’s awful, because as it turns out, Kent is incredibly hilarious and more than a little dorky, which is extremely endearing, and Bitty is threatening to go past celebrity worship and into a full blown crush.

It’s fine, Bitty justifies. He never sees Kent, so things won’t go too far. He can nurse his little crush and enjoy the perks of being a celebrity cat sitter just fine, thank you very much.

 

 

_**Early December, NYC...** _

Kent has a six-game roadie, the longest away stretch Bitty’s worked this year. He arrives at the apartment ready to make the most of it. He cooks up a storm, walks the entire High Line, and watches two seasons of Orphan Black, all by day 3. Just as he’s debating where to do his Christmas shopping, his phone rings.

It’s Kent.

“Bitty,” he says, sounding frantic. “Are you at the apartment? I need a huge, huge favor.”

“Of course!” Bitty can’t imagine what would have Kent so worked up. “Whatever you need, we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay, so I’m working on becoming a brand ambassador for Dolce and Gabbana--”

“Oh my goodness, that’s--”

“Totally amazing, right? So their rep gave me a super expensive pair of sunglasses our last meeting and I’m seeing him tomorrow before the game and Bitty, I really, really need these glasses. I need you to go into my closet and find them, ok?”

“Sure!” Bitty hustles down the hall and to Kent’s room. He hasn’t spent much time there, other than walking through to and from the bathroom. He opens the doors to the walk-in closet. The lights go on automatically to reveal a perfectly organized space. Bitty easily finds where Kent keeps his accessories. There's just one problem...

“Kent, honey, there’s about a hundred pairs of sunglasses here.”

 

 

_**And at the same time in Vegas...** _

“Did he call you honey?” Jeff mouths at Kent from where he’s sprawled on the king sized bed.

Kent switches the phone off speaker and flips Jeff off. “Yeah, I have a few pairs. The one you’re looking for is...uh, black? It’s black frames with--no, that doesn’t sound right. What? I’m not sure. You know what? Send me some pictures.” Kent hangs up and sighs. “I’m going to fuck up this deal cause I’m an idiot.”

“Hey, hey,” Jeff says, patting the space beside him. “None of that.” Kent sits down next to Jeff, who shuffles till he can rest his head on Kent’s leg. “You haven't fucked up. You realized the problem, and you're solving it. You’ve got time zones in your favor, Bitty can definitely get the glasses here before the game. Be thankful you’re here early, okay?”

“Okay.” Kent focuses on breathing, and on the weight of Jeff's head and shoulders against his leg. God, he’s missed Jeff. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, though I gotta say, one of the rookies is giving you a run for your money in the best friend category. We were at this party and--hey, your phone buzzed.” Jeff reaches over Kent and picks up his phone, then bursts into laughter. “Oh Jesus. How do you even own those?”

“What?” Kent lunges and grabs his phone. Bitty’s sent a selfie of him wearing one of Kent’s most ridiculous pairs of glasses, huge and mirrored and hideous. “Oh my god, why isn’t he just taking pictures of the glasses?”

Jeff snatches the phone again. “Bro, gift horse, mouth, etc.” He starts tapping away at the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting more selfies of a cute boy for you, duh.”

It takes 24 selfies, Bitty making increasingly ridiculous faces in each one, but he finally finds the right pair and heads off to overnight them. Jeff looks way too smug. “Parser, you’re so fucked. He’s the perfect combination of sexy and cute.”

Kent shoves him out the door a few minutes later, but can hear him cackling down the hallway to the elevators.

“Sexy and cute. As if I didn’t know it,” he mumbles.

Oh well. It’s not as if he sees Bitty, like, ever. It’ll be fine.

Nine days later, he walks into his apartment, hugs his cat, and opens the fridge to see if he has anything cold to drink.

There is a picture-perfect pie, lattice and all, resting on the top shelf, with a note tucked under it.

_Welcome home! Thought you could use something sweet after all that travel. -- Bitty_

The pie is apple-cranberry. Kent eats a quarter of it standing over the sink, each bite more delicious than the last. When he finally sets the tin down, he picks up his phone to thank Bitty, but stops when he pulls up the string of texts. Jeff set Bitty’s contact photo to one of the sunglass selfies. He’s pulling the pair of shades down and winking at the camera.

“Something sweet, huh?” Kent says, tossing his phone to the side. “Fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: All Rangers players mentioned in this chapter are OCs.

_**Saturday, December 18, 8:10pm...** _

The sound of someone clearing their throat cuts through Bitty’s dream. “Five more minutes, ‘kay Lards?” he mumbles, burrowing deeper into his pillow. 

Wait. That’s not right. That’s not his pillow. It feels like --

Bitty bolts upright from where he was sleeping on Kent’s couch, staring wide-eyed at the man himself, standing in the doorway. “Ohmygoodness! I am so, so sorry, there was a car alarm going off all last night, and I was just so tired I must have forgot to set the alarm, and your weekend games always throw me and -- honey, are you okay?”

Kent is wearing one of his gameday suits, and his hair is still a little damp from his post-game shower, so it’s curling at the edges, which would normally be a devastating combination, but his expression is tight and he’s cradling his arm against his chest.

“Kind of.” Kent drops his bag on the floor and leans against the kitchen counter. He looks exhausted. “I’m guessing you fell asleep before the last period?”

“I think so? Last I remember you were up by 2.”

“We lost in overtime. Took a bad hit, messed up my arm a little.”

“How messed up? Oh my goodness, and with the season you’re having!” Bitty can feel the anger bubbling up. Kent is having a standout season, of course goons on opposing teams would have it out for him.

“Yeah,” Kent says, reaching down to scritch Kit’s head. “Not the most ideal timing. It’s mostly just sore. Dinged my wrist, but not a sprain. Compression, elevation, ice, etc. I’ll be out one game, max. I can pop some painkillers before bed, so it shouldn’t be too bad.” 

“Oh. Well, I’ll just get out of your hair, then.” Bitty moves to go gather his things, but he stills when he looks up. Kent is looking at the kitchen, where vegetables are lined up next to a cutting board, and a pot of water is waiting on the stove top. Bitty rushes over and starts putting things back in his reusable totes. “Haha, so, I was fixing to make some dinner and decide to take a lil nap first, and, well. You know the rest. It’ll just take a sec to tidy that up.”

“...what were you going to make?”

Bitty pauses, a squash in his hand. “Pasta primavera. I kind of got tired of ordering delivery and it sounded good.”

Kent hesitates, biting his lip. “That sounds really good. I have some organic chicken in the fridge. Would that go with it?”

“It would... “ Bitty says slowly.

Immediately, Kent backtracks. “You don’t have to--shit, you probably want to get home. Nevermind.”

“I hate eating alone,” Bitty blurts out. “My roommates have totally different schedules than me, or I’m here by myself, and I hate it.”

“So stay and have dinner with me.” Kent gingerly takes off his suit jacket, and loosens his tie and collar. “It’ll be nice.” 

Bitty tears his eyes away from where he can now see the pale skin below Kent’s throat. “I can have it ready in half an hour or so. How’s that?” 

“Perfect. I’m going to take a bath.” As Kent wanders to his room, Bitty pulls the chicken out of the fridge and sets the water to boil, the familiar acts of preparing food centering him and helping to shut down any further thoughts of Kent, currently naked two rooms over. 

“Heaven help me,” Bitty prays as he dices.

Half an hour later Kent emerges, pink-cheeked and dressed in soft pants and a faded Islanders sweatshirt. Bitty raises a brow at that. “You can’t tell a soul,” Kent cautions, reaching for the pasta and loading his plate, “but my uncle is the biggest Islanders fan in the world, and I grew up rooting for them.”

Bitty shakes his head. “Must break his heart every time he sees you in a Rangers sweater.”

“I think the primo tickets to all the cross-town games softens the blow,” Kent says, taking his first bite. He makes a noise that is practically obscene, sets down his fork, and stares at Bitty. “This is one of the best things I have ever put in my mouth.” Bitty can feel the color rising to his face, because mercy, that phrasing. Kent twirls more pasta onto his fork. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“My grandmother and NYU.” 

“NYU...okay, I remember that from your resume. They have a culinary school?” 

Bitty laughs. “They do if you make your own!” As they eat, Bitty explains his childhood spent in his Moomaw’s kitchen, and how he used his video blog as part of his admissions application to NYU, building his own major focused on American foodways and the evolution of regional home cooking traditions. 

Kent listens carefully, asking questions, and by the time Bitty is finished, he’s picking at the last scraps of vegetables on his plate. “That’s really impressive, Bitty.” 

Bitty sighs as he begins to collect dishes and stack them by the sink. “I wish employers thought so. I was just about desperate when I saw the posting for this job.”

“Really?” Kent looks surprised. “I am an employer and I am impressed. Hell, I didn’t even think about going to college. Hey, let me help you with that.” He reaches for the now empty serving platter, but Bitty shoos him away.

“Not with that arm like that, mister. Go relax. It’ll just take me a second to clean up and make you some tea before I go.” True to his word, Bitty has the kitchen sparkling and the dishwasher running in moments, and then walks Kent to the couch while pressing a mug of milky, fragrant tea into his hand. “It’s heavy on the ginger, to fight inflammation. Are you gonna be okay?”

Kent takes a moment to assess. He’s warm, full of good food, and has laughed more with Bitty over dinner than he has in the last week or so. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Okay. Get some rest, then. I’m bringing you a pie on Monday, you hear?” And with that, Bitty’s out the door. 

The tea is golden with turmeric and tastes of honey and ginger. Kent sips it slowly and feels warm all over.

 

**_Monday night…_ **

True to his word, when Kent gets back from his game there’s a pie waiting for him. 

And Bitty, too, fidgeting at the dining room table. “I hope it wasn’t presumptuous, but I thought maybe we could have a slice and some coffee together and chat? But if you’re busy, I can scoot, no worries, or, if you don’t like chess pie, I can make another kind, or --”

“Bitty,” Kent interrupts. “Coffee and pie sound great.”

The actual coffee and pie part takes maybe twenty minutes, but Bitty ends up staying an hour, and it’s only Kent starting to yawn that ends their conversation and sends Bitty back to Brooklyn. 

As Kent puts their plates and cups in the dishwasher, he calls Jeff and tells him about the dinner and the pie, and how Bitty can both lecture him on the origins of chess pie and also diagram out hockey plays on napkins. 

Jeff laughs at him till Kent hangs up, then calls back. “Bro, you need to nail that shit down.”

He’s not wrong, Kent thinks later, as he gets ready for bed.

 

**_The Saturday before Christmas…_ **

The Rangers have a one o’clock game, and Patty’s hosting the team’s holiday party at his huge house upstate that evening. When Kent had texted Bitty before the game to tell him they wouldn’t be able to hang out post-game, the reply texts had been...off. He has to put that aside for now, though. He has a game to win.

They obliterate the Jets.

Kent walks in the door to his apartment with a spring in his step, until he hears Bitty’s voice come down the hall. He’s talking to someone on the phone, his voice tense. “Mamma, I know, but it’s not about that -- alright, but if you uninvite him from Christmas you’re never gonna hear the end of it from Aunt Judy and the girls.” Kent makes a lot of noise as he shuts the door and drops his bag. “I gotta go mamma, Kent’s back. I love you very much, okay? Coach, too. Can’t wait to see you.” Kent rounds the corner into the living area just as Bitty’s hanging up. His eyes are shiny and his nose is red. 

Well, he can’t ignore that. “Are you okay?”

Bitty startles. “Oh, goodness, yes, right as rain, and on my way out so you can get to your party.” Kent would almost buy it, except for the little tremble at the end of the sentence.

“Bullshit. You’re upset. What’s wrong? Hold on, I need some water. Do you want anything?” When Bitty doesn’t answer, Kent fills two glasses from the tap, and gestures to the breakfast bar. “C’mon. Sit with me for a few.”

Bitty sits down and plays with his glass. He doesn’t look at Kent as he says, “It’s just some family drama. You know, holidays.” 

“Mhmm. So what are you doing for the rest of tonight?”

“Oh, you know. I think I’ll just catch up on my shows. Lardo’s already at her grandma’s, so I’ll have the room to myself.”

“Or,” Kent says, “instead of being sad about family stuff all alone, you could come with me to a party.”

“I saw the invite you’ve got stuck on the fridge,” Bitty says, shaking his head. “It says ‘family welcome,’ not ‘sad cat sitter welcome’.”

Kent gasps. “Do you not love Kit as if she were your own? I am wounded, Bitty.” He gets a weak smile in return. “Aww, if you’re too sad to laugh at my bad jokes, that means you have to come to the party instead of being alone. Goose is bringing his kids’ two nannies, Jimmy brings his grandmother and his grandmother’s boyfriend, it’s seriously the more the merrier. Plus, it’s catered and there’s an open bar. And lots of famous hockey players. And me. I promise you’ll have fun.” Kent finishes his pitch and leans back. 

Bitty chews on his lip for a second. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“There is an H&M literally three blocks away. Go get something festive while I get ready.” Bitty’s starting to smile for real, now. Kent mentally high fives himself. This is a great plan.

It takes just half an hour for Bitty to leave and return with several shopping bags, then shut himself into the guest bedroom, emerging a few moments later in a slim cut pair of slacks, and a black and green plaid jacket over a soft looking white button down. He’s fiddling with his bowtie, not noticing Kent gaping at him. “Does this work?” he asks nervously, moving to smoothing his hair.

Kent buys time, circling Bitty, making tutting noises. By the time he shrugs and says, “It’ll pass,” Bitty’s laughing, full and deep. “That’s more like it. Ready?” 

They head to the chartered busses together, and there’s rounds and rounds of introductions. By the time they get up to Patty’s giant mansion of a house, Bitty has charmed a group of wives and their kids. True to Kent’s promise, there’s family and friends of all stripes spread out through the house. Bitty sticks close for a while, but Kent loses him to a conversation with Bergen, and wanders off to find a drink. 

A little later, Kent sees Bitty slip out onto the patio. Kent excuses himself from a game of “I Spy’ with Borlov’s son, and follows.

Bitty’s tucked himself into a chaise lounge, and Kent shoves at his legs til he makes space for him. “Hey, party going okay?”

“Yes.” Bitty has a soft smile on his face. “Just wanted a little air. You know some good people in New York.”

“I do.” They sit in silence for a few beats. Kent’s about to ask if he should give Bitty some space when he starts to talk.

“Last year I came out to my family at Christmas.” Bitty looks off to the side as he speaks, focusing on Patty’s monstrosity of a grill. “I was almost done with school, so if they disowned me, I could probably have made it on my own till graduation. It went so much better, though. They all try really hard, you know? They love me. But sometimes--” Bitty breaks off, pauses. He turns to look at Kent. “My mamma was bragging on me to her brother a few days ago, talking about how I work for a big NHL star, and how much you love my cooking, and he said,” Bitty puts on a gruff voice, ”'make sure he don’t turn Parson queer.’” Bitty looks away again. “Mamma wanted to ban him from coming for Christmas, and his side of the family is all up in arms, saying how it wasn’t meant to be homophobic, that he was just making a joke, that I should lighten up.”

“Wasn’t funny,” Kent says. He puts his hand on Bitty’s leg, lightly. “Not at all.”

Bitty hums in agreement. “It’s not terrible, but it’s not easy either.” His voice is shaky, and before Kent can reply, Borlov’s kid finds them and informs Kent that if they don’t come inside right now, they will miss the cake. 

“Well,” Bitty says, putting his hand over Kent’s, still resting on his leg, and giving it a squeeze, “we can’t miss cake.”

The ride back to the city is quiet, with the bus lights dimmed and everyone dozing. Bitty is in the window seat next to Kent, watching the cars slip past in the opposite lanes. Kent watches him for a while, the lights of the highway playing over his face, highlighting his long eyelashes. He thinks about Bitty’s life in Georgia, what he knows of it, and what it must have taken to move to New York, so far from everything familiar. Kent thinks of his billet families, of his mother’s voice on the phone, tinny and far away. He thinks about his own coming out, less a planned event and more his mother coming home early and finding him making out with a boy from the next town over, the instant panic he’d felt, and the long talks that followed. He thinks of telling Jeff, scared shitless, hand already balled into fists, ready at his side, and of Jeff’s crushing embrace and their mutual tears. 

And now, this moment, so easy, so ripe for it.

“Hey, Bitty,” Kent whispers, waiting till Bitty turns to face him. “I’m gay.”

Bitty’s eyes widen. “What?”

“I’m gay. You can’t turn me queer. Too late.” Kent starts to crack up as he says it, the absurdity of the words catching him, and soon Bitty is laughing too, smothering the sounds behind his hands. When they calm down, Bitty faces the window again, but he grabs Kent’s hand and tugs it into his lap, keeping it there till they arrive at 33rd Street. As people say their farewells, Kent pulls him into a hug. “You need a plane ticket back to NYC in a hurry, you call me. Promise?”

He feels Bitty nod against his chest. “I will. Merry Christmas, Kent”

“Merry Christmas, Bitty,” and like that, Bitty’s gone into a waiting car service sedan.

 

**_Early January..._ **

Kent hosts his family for Christmas, spends New Year’s Eve in Vegas with Jeff and his old teammates, and is ready for the return of his routines by the time his jet lag fades and Amanda de-Christmases his apartment.

Bitty returns from vacation on a blisteringly cold Saturday to watch Kit during an early afternoon game, relieving Amanda of her temporary holiday cat sitting duties. “Thank fuck you’re back, that cat still hates me,” she’d said when he walked in, throwing her arms around him and then booking it out the door. 

Kit ignores him for all of half an hour before he breaks out a wand toy and she loses her mind chasing the lure all over the apartment. By the time she’s worn out, she’s happy to curl up beside him on the couch. They’re still there when Kent comes home, a pinched look on his face, and starts talking before the door closes. “Hey, Bitty, I really want to hear all about your trip, but I also really need a favor, please say yes?” He follows this up with big eyes and a quivering lip. 

Bitty sighs. “What favor?”

And that is how Bitty finds himself at a 75th birthday party for one of Kent’s mom’s old coworkers. He’d gotten a rushed explanation in the cab over -- family friend, known Kent since birth, Kent ditched the last 3 times she’d invited him to something, it’ll be quick, he promises -- and now Bitty is standing in the lounge of a rundown midtown steakhouse, holding a mai tai, and trying to get out of being set up on a date with his new friend Millie’s nephew, Andrew. “Yes,” Bitty says, glancing at Millie’s phone, “he is handsome, but I’m just not -- no, I don’t meet many lawyers, but -- oh, look, is that more canapes? Excuse me!” He bolts toward the buffet and grabs Kent’s arm, tugging him into a hallway. “Kent Parson, I need you to get me out of here right now!”

Groaning, Kent slumps against the wall. “I’m way ahead of you. My ass has gotten pinched like five times, I’m done.” They grab their coats and all but sprint out the door. Bitty sees a man exiting a cab and shoves Kent into it, both of them laughing as the driver takes them down Broadway. 

“My lord,” Bitty says when he’s caught his breath. “That was the worst party I have ever been to!”

“Oh my god, I know!” Kent says. “Sandra is the sweetest woman, and I love her, but what the hell is up with her friends? If I’d had to go alone I might have literally died, Bitty. Let me make it up to you. How about dinner?”

“It’s a start,” Bitty says. “You’d better take me somewhere nice. I hear you’ve recently come into some money, after all.”

“I landed that contract thanks to your sunglasses save. And my bone structure.” Kent turns his face from side to side. “Look at these cheekbones, Bittle.” 

“How many cocktails did you have at that party?”

“Oh god, so many. But I need at least one more.”

“I need at least two” Bitty says, and Kent leans forward to give the driver an address.

 

_**Three hours, a very expensive steak dinner, and four cocktails later...** _

Bitty reflects on his night as his cab speeds across the Williamsburg Bridge. “That was...not a date? But it felt like one?” 

His driver switches off the music. “Tell me what happen, I tell you if date.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” 

“I am very good at romantic advices, tell me.”

“My boss who is also my friend, well, kind of one of my best friends, I guess, took me to a terrible party and then to a very good dinner, and I think he was flirting with me most of the night? But also, he’s just kind of flirty and charming by default, and he had a lot to drink...so, maybe not. But our legs kept brushing together under the table, but it was a really tiny table? Also, four negronis was a terrible idea, I should have switched to seltzer after the second one, but no, I was tipsy enough to tell him about the Southern Junior Regionals--I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Rasel.”

“Rasel, I’m Eric, so nice to meet you, so anyway, I spent about ten minutes telling him about my favorite ice skating costume, and then I reenacted my winning routine using an olive on a toothpick.”

Rasel makes several thoughtful noises as they pause at a redlight. The light changes, and they pass three blocks before he has an answer for Bitty. “My small friend, I am sorry. I am good at romantic advices, but you are needing something far more than I can help.” He turns the music back on.

Bitty slinks down in the seat. “That’s fair.”

“Thank you, am a fair person. We are almost to your house. You will be okay?”

“I think so, Rasel.”

“Good. If it work out, you call Rasel. I like weddings.”

Bitty is left in front of his building, holding a business card in one hand and a small baggie of cookies that Rasel had insisted he take in the other. “My wife good cook, you try, you like.” 

Later, showered and in bed but too drunk to sleep, Bitty eats the cookies, which are indeed delicious. He wakes up the next morning horrifically hungover and covered in crumbs. Kent’s already texted him six times, his initial _Holy shit I’m hungover_ followed by a series of increasingly distressed emoji. 

_Stop texting me, the noise is too loud,_ Bitty replies, before going back to sleep.

 

_**MLK Day Weekend…** _

As family skates go, it’s lowkey, thrown together at the last minute when ice space and a Monday off from school lined up. Kent’s relaxing, leaning against the edge of the rink and watching Bitty make slow loops with Digsy’s girlfriend on his arm -- Digsy is busy entertaining a crowd of 5 year olds with keep-a-way in the middle. 

Borlov comes to a stop by him. “Parson, your boyfriend is good skater. Very nice balance on ice.”

Kent blanches. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh,” Borlov furrows his brow. “Is not boyfriend? Too bad, is good looking guy.”

“I’m not -- “ Kent stutters. “He’s my cat sitter.” 

Borlov shrugs. “Okay, sorry. We talk after he babysit for me, you remember time I go to New Jersey for Zoya mother surgery?” Kent remembers. Borlov had been frantic, desperate to get to his wife’s side in the hospital waiting room, and Bitty had saved the day on short notice. “After, on drive home, we talk, and I try to get him date with niece. He teaches me idiom, ‘barking up wrong tree.’ You know this one?”

Kent nods.

“Is good. I think I bark up wrong tree with you, now.”

Kent’s heart is racing and his breath is short, but goddammit, he trusts Borlov, wants to trust this team like he did his boys in Vegas. “Uh, not totally the wrong tree, actually. But Bitty’s just a friend.”

“Ah,” Borlov says. “You know, you not first person I know up this tree. If you manage impossible and find someone better than Bitty to date, you bring him to skate, yes? As boyfriend?” 

“Yes?” Kent manages, as Borlov skates off. 

He mulls the conversation over as the skate finishes up and everyone winds down with hot chocolate and cookies. Bitty drifts between groups, chatting and charming, smiling at Kent when he catches his eye. He’s heading to an art party with Lardo tonight, and Kent doesn’t want to distract. He’ll talk to him tomorrow, he thinks, ducking out of the rink and starting to walk home.

 

**_The next night…_ **

The enchiladas look good, lined up in their dish, but Bitty sprinkles just a little more cheese on top of them before sliding them into the oven. Better safe than sorry, he thinks, moving to grab a beer from the fridge. He normally doesn’t drink on the job, but Kent had asked if he could stay after to have dinner and talk, and Bitty is half convinced he’s about to get a raise, and half convinced he’s about to be fired. And considering a certain email he’s waiting for an answer to...well, he’s not sure which would be worse. 

A beer seems in order.

There’s a much, much tinier part of him that wonders if maybe Kent wants to talk about something else, maybe about -- well, now he’s just speculating wildly, isn’t he?

To take his mind of things, he sets two places at the table, then wipes down the counter before settling down on the couch, prodding Kit out of the way so he can put his feet up. The Rangers look like they have this one wrapped up, with 5 minutes left and a two point lead.

Shoot. His beer is still in the kitchen, and by the time he gets it and comes back, play is stopped and Kent is limping off the ice, leaning heavily on Digsy. 

“Shit,” Bitty whispers, as his phone starts to vibrate with texts. 

 

**_The next day…_ **

Borlov is busy closing the blinds in Kent’s bedroom when Bitty comes in, a little breathless, shopping bag in his hand. “The pharmacy line was crazy. When did y’all get here?” He stands by the bed and looks at Kent, sound asleep with one arm flung out from the covers. Bitty reaches over and runs his finger along Kent’s wrist. “How is he?”

“Come maybe 20 minutes ago. Kent is very good, very happy. Nurse taught me new idiom. He is high as kite. Will be hilarious when awake. He make me laugh a lot at hospital.” Satisfied with the blinds, Borlov turns to Bitty. “Is bruised ribs, not broken. No concussion. Very good. Doctors keep overnight for scans today, no big worry.”

“Well, that’s good,” Bitty says, his eyes on Kent’s face. “Did the doctor leave instructions?”

“Short list. I look, is easy. PR tell me tell you make sure he keep away from phone while kite high.”

“High as a kite,” Bitty says, softly. “I know you have a plane to catch. I’ll take good care of him, you tell the boys that, okay?” 

“Yes, you very talented cat sitter. Spray Kent with water bottle if bad, tell him no treat,” Borlov leans down and kisses Kent on the forehead, as Bitty bolts out of the room, afraid his laughter will wake him.

Kent wakes up hours later, grumpy and disoriented. He refuses Bitty’s offer of soup, grumbling that a grilled cheese would be okay, maybe, and then pushing it away when one’s brought to him. Bitty sets down the plate on the bedside table, and leans over the bed. “You listen here, Kent Parson. You are going to eat this sandwich so you can take your medication, and you are going to be polite about it, because if you are not I will call your mother.”

Kent rolls his eyes. “My chest fucking hurts, you have to be nice to me. And I’m not afraid of my mother.”

Bitty leans in closer. “I will put her on a conference call with Amanda.” Kent blanches, and Bitty hands him the plate again, watches him take a big bite of sandwich. “That’s what I thought.”

 

**_An hour later…_ **

“Bitty! Bitty, we should go to Toys R Us in Times Square. I want to ride the ferris wheel.” 

Bitty doesn’t even look up from his phone. “If you are fixing to get up out of that bed you have another thought coming. No one is going to Toys R Us tonight.”

“You’ll like it, though. It’s fun, and being in bed is not fun,” Kent’s voice is perilously close to a whine. 

“Honey, even if you were hale and hearty, no one’s going cause they closed that store last year.” Bitty swipes his thumb up, and crushes another level of candy. Babysitting the world’s most dramatic patient at least is giving him guilt free time to finally try and beat his mama's high score. He’s close. 

Kent lays back down, whimpering. “How could they? I love that place. Mom used to take me there when I was a kid.” He goes quiet for long enough that Bitty looks up.

“...are you crying? Oh lord, what’s in these pills?” Bitty moves from his bedside chair toward the nightstand to look at the bottle, but when he gets near, Kent grabs his wrists.

“Don’t go.” His eyes are watery and his lip is genuinely wobbling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bitty says, as Kent tugs on his arm. Bitty sits on the edge of the bed, and Kent sighs. “What do you need ?” Bitty asks, reaching out to stroke his hair.

“Jeff used to cuddle me when I was sick.”

“Oh did he?” 

“Yeah,” Kent says, fluttering his eyelashes. “It helped. A lot.”

Bitty sighs. “Okay, fine, but just for a minute.” 

He gently pushes at Kent until they’re arranged in the bed, Bitty sitting up against the headboard, Kent’s head against his chest. Kent nestles into Bitty, sighing happily. “You’re better than Jeff.” 

“Hmm, let’s not tell him, though. Might hurt his feelings.” 

He can feel Kent shake his head. “No, he knows about you. S’different.”

Huh. Bitty waits a beat, but Kent doesn’t elaborate. “Kent honey, maybe you should try and sleep now, hmm? Let your body heal?”

“S’nice when you call me honey.” Kent’s talking into Bitty’s shirt. It tickles, a little. “You’re nice.”

“Yes, I am, so you be nice too and go to sleep, okay?”

“Honey.”

“What?”

“Go to sleep, honey.”

“Oh, you are ridiculous. Yes, go to sleep, honey.”

“I will. And I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Tell me what?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Alright.” Bitty strokes Kent’s hair, and listens to his breathing, waiting for him to fall asleep.

He dozes, too, Kit waking him when she jumps up on the bed, butting her head against Bitty’s hand for scritches. Bitty obliges, his eyes still closed. He can feel where Kent’s pressed into him, the rise and fall of his chest against Bitty’s side, the soft puffs of breath against his neck. He untangles himself as gently as he can and retreats to the guest bedroom. After he changes into clothes that don’t smell like Kent’s cologne, like Kent’s bed, he paces for a bit, then checks his email, his eyes widening as he reads his first new message. He sits on the bed and types up a reply, hitting “send” before he can second guess himself. 

 

**_The next morning…_ **

“Good morning,” Bitty says cheerfully, bringing a tray into Kent’s room. 

Kent’s sitting up against his headboard, propped up by pillows. “Hey, Bitty.”

“How are you feeling, slugger?” Bitty sets the tray down on the bed and busies himself tidying the nightstand.

“Groggy and sore,” Kent says, reaching for one of the two mugs of coffee. “But better. Did the doctor leave anything a little less heavy duty in the pain meds department?”

“No, but I bet he could call something in.” Satisfied that the table is organized, Bitty perches on the edge of the bed and snags one of the lox and cream cheese bagels from the tray. “You sure?”

“I had the most bizarre dream about you and I riding a ferris wheel at Toys R Us. Jeff was there, but he was a pirate?”

Bitty laughs. “That sounds amazing. Hey, last night you said you had something you wanted to tell me. A secret? Was that real or was that the drugs talking?”

Kent furrows his brow, thinking. “Feels like it was real? My head is a little fuzzy. It’ll come back, I’m sure.”

“Okay. Pass the oj?”

They eat their bagels, and Bitty sits in on a call with Amanda, to organize Kent’s schedule while the Rangers start their roadie without him. A little back and forth and it’s decided -- Amanda will stay over tonight so she can wrap up the paperwork side of Kent’s injury, and Bitty will come back once Kent’s rejoined the team on the road for his usual away game overnights. 

Breakfast done, and agendas sorted, Kent showers and dresses and makes his own way, slowly, to the car that will take him for his follow up scans and PT assessment. 

When he’s gone, Bitty packs up and heads to Bushwick. On the train, his phone is silent. It feels weird, heading home from Kent’s without a string of texts following him back to Brooklyn and into his room. Kent is medicated and in pain at the moment, and Bitty aches for him, for what even a few games away from the team will cost him. 

When he walks through the door, his phone pings. 

_Home safe? Doctors are mean, won’t let me play for three games. THREE, Bitty._

The warmth starts in Bitty’s chest and spreads, slowly, gently. The phone pings again. 

_There’s enchiladas in my fridge!!! You are the best. See you in a week._

Bitty presses the phone to his chest and breathes. 

 

**_A week later…_ **

“Bitty!” Kent says, barreling through the door and toward the living room, arms spread. “I can play in the next game!” He walks toward Bitty and grabs him into a hug.

Bitty lets himself be pulled in, surrounded by Kent’s warmth and scent. He sighs, his arms around Kent’s back. “I’m so happy, honey.”

Kent pulls back and smiles at him, dazzling. “Let’s celebrate. Let me take you out for a beer.”

“You have beer here,” Bitty argues, but he’s already getting his coat.

“Yeah, but draft is better. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

They walk to a nearby pub, and Kent scowls at Bitty when he orders a bottle of cider. “They have cider on draft.”

“But I like this one,” Bitty says, taking a sip. They chat for a while, Kent filling him in on the trip, Bitty telling him about his last phone call with his grandmother. There’s a lull in the conversation. Kent’s smiling at Bitty over his beer, a little bit of foam on his lip. Bitty takes a deep breath.

“Kent, I’m glad you asked me to come out tonight. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

Kent sets down his beer, slowly. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes I am it’s just...ugh, this is hard.” Bitty worries at the label on his bottle of beer.

“Hey, look at me,” Kent says, so Bitty does. “Tell me.”

“I got another job!” Bitty blurts out.

Kent sits back, his mouth open in shock.

BItty feels the words rushing out of him. “It’s just, you’ve been so wonderful, and so gracious, and generous, and kind --”

“It’s okay, Bitty.”

“What?”

Kent sighs. “I figured you weren’t going to be my cat sitter forever. Tell me about the job.”

“So, there’s this food blog,” Bitty starts, and he gets to tell Kent all about how they saw his vlogs, and actually read his senior thesis, and he’s going to get to develop historical recipes, and by the end of it all, Kent is smiling at him as he wraps up. “--and the offer came in right when you had your accident, and it’s just terrible timing being mid-season and all, but, you know. I had to take it.”

“Well, shit. I’m so sorry you’re leaving, but I’m so proud of you. Another beer?” Kent looks toward the bar, ready to signal the bartender.

“No, I think I need to head home, but there’s one more thing, I should tell you. It’s just that I...ugh, nevermind. I’m gonna go, okay?”

“Ok?” Kent asks, bewildered. Bitty hops down from his stool and stops in front of Kent. 

“You’re being such a sweetheart about this,” he says, leaning in to give Kent a peck on the cheek. Before he can turn away, Kent puts his hand on the side of Bitty’s face. Bitty stills. “Kent?”

“When’s your last day?” Kent’s hand is so warm against his cheek.

“Uh, next Tuesday?”

“So soon,” Kent says, voice low. “Let me take you out after.”

“Oh,” Bitty breaths, as Kent rubs his thumb along his jaw. “But Tuesday is Valentine’s Day.”

“Perfect,” Kent says, leaning in and closing the distance between them. The kiss is soft, but Bitty’s still dazed when he pulls back. 

“Gosh, I’ve been half in love with you forever.” Bitty can feel the blush spreading across his face.

“Oh, good, me too.” Kent throws some money on the table and grabs Bitty’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

**_The next morning…_ **

Bitty wakes up in Kent’s bed, with Kit curled by his head. He wanders out to the kitchen, where Kent is brewing coffee, and from the smell of it, making toast. When he sees Bitty, he grins, and it’s like sunshine. “Hey, babe,” he says, leaning over the counter for a kiss. Bitty obliges, because it’s just his life now, getting to kiss Kent Parson. 

“Hey, handsome.” Kent slides him a cup of coffee, and sits down next to him, linking their ankles together.

“So, I have a follow up question from last night --” Bitty groans, and Kent laughs. “Alright, fine, consider this an exit interview. When you said you’re half in love with me -- “

“Oh, hush,” Bitty says, tipping forward for a kiss. They make out lazily for a bit, then Kent feeds him bites of buttered toast, with an excessive amount of finger licking and nuzzling. “You are the most ridiculous man,” Bitty says, laughing and shaking crumbs off his shirt. 

“Yeah, I am. But am I your ridiculous man?”

“Oh, honey,” Bitty says, and Kent shivers. 

“Baby.” Kent leans over and picks him up.

“Sweetheart.” Kent carries him down the hall.

“Lover.” Kent sets him on the bed.

The words stop, then, replaced with sighs and moans, but after, when they’re wrapped up in the covers, breathing the same air, Bitty runs his hands down Kent’s chest and tries one more. 

“Mine.”

Kent buries his face in Bitty’s hair. “Yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Lardo takes over cat sitting duties, and Kit loves her more than anyone else. When Kent and Bitty move in together, Tallulah the goldfish gets a permanent home in the Ranger’s front office. Oh, and Lardo and Jeff meet when they are best bros at Kent and Bitty's wedding, and end up dating.
> 
> (Rasel is totally invited to the wedding. He kills it on the dance floor.)
> 
> Thanks to muchandquick for the cheerleading. I'm on tumblr at agrossunderstatement.


End file.
